#unknowing

Azriel slid into the Dining Room of the River House nearly on the cusp of being late. Mostly because he hadn’t been able to pull himself away from what he had been doing that afternoon. 

Nobody in his situation would have wanted to leave. 

It had involved his wife and the flower field in their backyard… their daughter sleeping peacefully in her willow basket a few paces away, cradled in a bubble of her mother’s magic that would keep her asleep and safe from anything that could happen to her. 

Fed, changed and as happy as a clam to fall into her usual milk-induced coma, he knew that she would only wake up if she wanted more milk. 

Which meant that her parents had some quality time for each other…and they had made the best out of that. 

The result was a little shimmer of magic all over Azriel that he couldn’t get scrubbed away. Not that he had tried particularly hard either. He liked having that proof of his wife’s pleasure all over him. 

His wife, his mate, the mother of his child…his fucking sanity . There were many words he had for Embelia. 

She was the bright spot of his life, untouched by the darkness that leeched around him. A secret he gladly kept.

And if the glimmer of her magic followed him and showed everybody that he was hers…well, then that was the case. Azriel didn’t particularly care what anybody else thought of it. 

Azriel was out of fucks to give, to be honest. Had been, for the better part of two years…ever since that Solstice. 

He was pretty sure that something inside him had splintered apart at Rhys’ order. 

That fucking order had been the reason why he had ever even met Embelia though. He had taken Rhys literally. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her. That had been Rhys’ words. 

Her had been Elain. 

Azriel had listened to Rhys. He had followed the order to the fucking letter, giving the High Lord of the Night Court to complain about. He had left Elain alone…who had figured things out with Lucien. Both now happy and ensconced in Day Court, with Helion, Lucien’s actual father. 

And he had gone to that pleasure hall.  He had asked for any female that wasn’t afraid of him…and then Embelia had claimed his hand with hers. And that had been that. 

 Granted, he hadn’t known her name then. For months, all he had known her as had been Blossom. That’s who she had been to him for months . 

Just Blossom. Every Thursday, he had gone to that pleasure hall and paid for her company. 

And then she had gotten pregnant. 

Not quite what either of them expected. 

He hadn’t even bothered with a contraception draught and while she had, apparently it hadn’t stood up to Azriel of all faes. 

He should probably thank the mother on his knees for that . 

But Embelia had told him about the pregnancy and had been very clear from the start that while she wanted the child, she wasn’t going to ask anything of him. Which was simply unacceptable. 

He had grown up a bastard. He was not going to put his child through the same if he had any choice in that matter. 

And he had been a little bit in love with her then already. So taking her from that pleasure hall and making her his wife…moving her into a cottage he found and making a life with her…that had been the easiest decision he had ever made. 

They had just fit together…

She had come to live with him, and had given up her job, though that wasn’t something that bothered her all too much. More than anything she was happy that she no longer needed to do that to keep alive, to make a living…

And he got to hear the story of how she had come to Velaris and to the pleasure hall.  

Embelia was a Floresco Fairie. One of the few survivors of that breed of Lesser Fairies. The rest of her family had been slaughtered in the Spring Court Centuries ago. 

She had escaped and had ended up in Velaris of all places, traumatised and alone. Still half a child to her people, not having a trade or anything of that sort. The natural ability of a Floresco Fairy made it possible for her to grow flowers and life wherever she stood but none of that particularly lent itself to a well-paid job. 

So the pleasure house it had been. With a glamour, of course. 

The first time he had met her, she had left the glamour fall away, showing him a pair of iridescent pink wings sprouting out of her back. 

Even then he had thought that she was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. 

That opinion had never changed. If anything…after the birth of their daughter, after the mating bond had snapped for both of them, sometimes between cutting the cord and pressing a kiss to their daughter’s blood-covered head, covered in downy black curls…and he had watched Emmie cradle the baby against her chest, watched her coo to her, not caring one bit about blood and sweat and anything else, because there was their little girl that they had hoped and prayed for…somehow at that point, love seemed such a weak word for what he felt for them both. 

Somehow…somehow they had become the light of his life, the only guide he needed. And he protected that ferociously. 

Maybe even more than was necessary. 

He kept them away from his job and from anything and anybody that may would know him as the terror of the Night Court. 

They were his. His. His . 

The first thing in his long life that was his and his alone . 

And maybe that was too possessive, but…he had never wanted to listen to anybody else’s opinions about his and Embelia’s relationship. 

And everybody would have had their opinions. 

He knew that.

Instead…he had kept them a secret. 

To this day, nobody knew. Not Rhys, not Cassian, not Mor, not Amren…not Feyre or Nesta. 

Though of all people, sometimes he thought that maybe Nesta suspected something. 

But even if she did…that was fine too. 

He had made Embelia his wife, and his mate and the mother of his child and nobody could take her away from him. Nobody but herself, and she was gloriously happy in their little flower-covered cottage, where she was…content to dabble at being a housewife. 

After the life she had, he could understand it. She revelled in the normal, in doing nothing but dote on their daughter and try and cook him dinner, which had started as absolutely disgusting but these days often turned out at least mostly edible…to tend to her garden of flowers, which were all she ate anyway…

To just exist there, in that little slice of paradise they built. 

And instead of being with her…he attended a family dinner at the River House that evening. He would have gladly just stayed at home, made himself dinner, or maybe let Embelia try to feed him, which never quite worked out and then walked their daughter to sleep. 

It would have been perfectly fine to him. To press a kiss to their daughter’s black curls and stroke her iridescent purple sparkling wings that were carefully folded and laid over her back…her heart-shaped mouth would open into a perfect o and she would yawn and he would fall in love all over again. It wouldn’t just be perfectly fine. It would be everything he had ever wanted. 

And then he could lay her in her crib and he could walk the few steps to their bed and crawl into it next to his wife, and she would give him that smile…and he could cocoon both of them in his wings and fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that she would be there the next morning.

Maybe kiss her some more and hear very perfect noise that left her throat and feel her warm body against his, skin like silk and small warm hands that could take him apart in seconds. 

But no. Rhys had ordered him. Like he was sometimes prone to be doing these days. Maybe because he didn’t know how Azriel spent his free time and clearly him being a loose cannon was way more believable than anything else. 

Oh well. Azriel wasn’t in the mood to clear that up. 

If anything he was in a brooding mood, wanting to go back to his afternoon in the flower field. 

“For cauldron’s sake,” Cassian complained, just as he started to violently sneeze. Multiple times. “Did you roll around in a flower field or something?” his brother demanded and Azriel was amused besides himself. 

“Yes,” he agreed drily, taking his seat next to Cassian who just glared at him and then grumbled under his breath, swapping seats with Nesta because otherwise he was probably not going to stop sneezing. 

“The Lord of Bloodshed taken to his knees by some flower pollen,” Amren drawled from across the table and Cassian glared at her. 

Nesta just snorted in amusement. 

Rhys and Feyre appeared at that moment and at least the discussion of flower fields was tabled for the moment. 

Which was just as well. 

Azriel mentally wondered if he could get away with skipping dessert if he cited some headache or something. He could get dessert at home. It promised to be much better than anything that would be served at the table anyway. 

Or maybe that was just going to make Rhys think that he was on the brink of some sort of breakdown even more than he already was. Who knew? 

Was it worth the mental berating that it promised to give him? All under the guise of worrying about him or checking in on him? 

Azriel had his own opinion about that these days. 

He couldn’t help but flinch as Nesta suddenly reached out to touch his hair. 

“What are you doing?” he asked her drily as Nesta pulled back her hand, Embelia’s glimmer sticking to it. 

“You have…glitter in your hair,” Nesta gave back. “What did you do?” she asked him with a grin. “Is that some kind of fashion choice now?” 

“It’s not glitter,” he gave back. It wasn’t. It was the flakes that Embelia’s wings shook loose when she trembled. It did look like glitter though. Sparkling, catching the sunlight…gorgeous, like every inch of her. 

“Az, I don’t know if you are ready to hear it, but it definitely looks like glitter,” Nesta told him with a snort. “Don’t worry, it suits you,” she said graciously, biting back a laugh. 

Mor was watching the whole thing. “It’s not glitter,” she finally said, mustering his hair with far too much interest. Azriel forced himself not to twitch under the assessing gaze of her brown eyes. Once upon a time, he would have given nearly everything to have her look at him like that, but nowadays…there was nothing there anymore. He would always lover her but sometimes during centuries of yearning for her it had settled into a deep and abiding friendship. Into loyalty. No longer the bright burning of desire, of…anything like that.  “Though I would really like to know where you found a Floresco Fairy to talk into your bed, Az,“ she said with a wink. 

Azriel didn’t react. 

“A what?” Feyre asked, curiosity piqued. 

“Floresco Fairy,“ Mor repeated. “They used to live in the Spring Court…centuries ago.”

“They don’t anymore?” Feyre wondered and the conversation around the table dropped. 

“Tamlin’s father had them slaughtered and used their wings for leather,“ Azriel said, his voice forcefully even. It was even more horrific than it sounded like. A whole breed of faeries was killed off because of their wings. Floresco Faeries had never been violent or a fighting breed. They kept to themselves, raising their families and growing their flowers and their crops…and then it had been ripped apart into a bloodbath. 

Embelia had been right in the middle of that. She had escaped, her youngest sister in tow…who had later succumbed to her injuries and all Emmie had been able to do was to bury her into the icy ground in Winter Court. She hadn’t outright said it but Azriel had known that for years she had wished to bury herself right there alongside her sister. 

Feyre just stared at him, blue eyes wide. “That’s horrible,“ she whispered, swallowing. 

“Yes,“ he agreed. It was. 

Horrific. 

“Not all died, a few escaped,” Mor said, trying to make it seem less horrific than it had been. “It happened a very long time ago. But still, they are quite rare. Where did you find her?” She asked Azriel, clearly trying to find something else to talk about.

He wasn’t stupid enough to lie to Morrigan, whose gift was Truth. 

“Today? At home.” He answered honestly. 

“Home?” Mor repeated, sounding amused beside herself. 

“Is she the same one you bought that solstice gift for?” Nesta piped up. 

He had asked her for advice, more out of desperation than anything else. She had been quite helpful though. 

He hadn’t been anted to ask Mor for obvious reasons, Armen would have probably bitten off his head and Feyre…well then Rhys would have known. But Nesta? Nesta had listened to him when he had asked politely and had then told him that if she liked him, she would like whatever he would buy her.

Not that useful but oh well. 

So he just nodded. 

“Which one did you end up picking?” Nesta asked him, curious. 

“I just bought both,” he admitted with a shrug. 

A hair comb that Emmie still wore nearly every day, silver and pink stones intertwined, keeping blush hair pulled back from her face and a pair of earrings that she also wore sometimes. 

She liked things like that, even when she never seemed to spend much money on them. And he liked buying her stuff like that because then she wore it and had that pleased little smile on her face, content and happy…

“Lucky girl,” Nesta told him with a secret smile, elbowing his ribs and he bit back down a smile for himself. 

“Az got a girlfriend?” Cassian asked, sounding shocked. 

“I do not,” he disagreed with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He had a wife. Very different. 

“So you just buy…What did he buy, Nesta?” Cassian asked. 

“He was waffling between a jewel-encrusted hair comb or a pair of lovely earrings. Apparently, he got her both,” Nesta answered her mate with a sigh. “You should take some advice from him,” she told him drily, making Cassian roll his eyes. 

“So if you don’t have a girlfriend, you just buy hair combs and jewellery for any female you come across?” His brother asked him drily. 

He just shook his head, not saying a single word. His shadows tightened in response, crawling closer to him from where they had skittered away. 

They liked Embelia, though they had taken a special liking to his daughter, tendrils oftentimes coming to play with her or checking on her through the night. With Emmie they kept a respectful distance, though they liked to hide and play with her, like they basked in her pure presence.

It wouldn’t surprise him all too much if that’s what they did. 

“Flower and Bud are safe” they whispered at that moment, even when he hadn’t asked. 

Right. Safe. 

“Leave him to it, Cassian. Though maybe next time wash off the glimmer. Or don’t have one of your amorous adventures before you show up to dinner,” Rhys drawled. 

It shouldn’t have upset him like that. It shouldn’t have. 

It was harmless. Mostly at least, but Azriel couldn’t help but feel the icy rage burn bright in his chest at Rhysand’s words. At his brother’s words. 

He didn’t have many good things in his life but he had Emmie and he was not going to let anybody take her away from him. He was not. 

That was simply unacceptable. 

“If you try to forbid me from bedding my wife, Rhysand, we are going to have a problem,” Azriel snapped back icily. 

A real problem, because he was not willing to give up Embelia under any circumstances. Not her and also not the pleasure they shared. 

He regretted his words instantly. One could have heard a pin drop in the Dining Room of the River House at that moment because this was the last thing anybody had expected. 

The last thing. 

He had kept his wife and his daughter hidden and he had been completely content with that because it had kept them safe and secure and he hadn’t wanted to listen to anybody trying to talk him out of it or telling him it was a bad idea. 

It was his fucking choice and he had never regretted it once. 

“Your wife ,” Amren was the first that recovered. “Your wife?!”

“Yes.”

His wife. His daughter. His family. 

The family he claimed. They were his. 

“You don’t have a girlfriend but you have a wife ?” Mor repeated. 

He just nodded. 

“You got married. When?” she continued asking him and he met her gaze. 

“About a year ago,” he answered. It had been just the two of them…and well, the babe slumbering in Emmie’s womb, but that was the whole reason for the wedding in the first place, right? 

“You didn’t even invite us to the wedding!” Cassian complained, having suddenly recovered his ability to talk. “You got married and you didn’t tell us?” 

Clearly. 

“And you never thought that that was something we may want to know, Azriel?” Rhys asked, his voice icy but Azirel met the gaze of violet eyes with his own.

“If you believe it or not, I can just about manage my personal relationships or my amorous adventures without the input of you, High Lord,” he drawled. 

There had been no reason to tell anybody. Least of all Rhys. 

“That was not what that was about and you know it,” his brother hissed at him, but Azriel just shrugged.  

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was. 

Maybe it had really just been a political worry for Rhys, but that didn’t mean that what he had done, hadn’t hurt…didn’t mean that he hadn’t pulled rank with Azriel in a way he had only done so very rarely. 

Rhys had gotten what he had wanted in the end. Elain and Lucien had figured it out…Day and Night were closer than ever. 

And Azriel…well, he was still pissed off about what had gone down in Rhys’ office that Solstice. Fucking furious, to be honest.   Even after Embelia had come into his life…even after she had married him. Even after the mating bond had snapped. He loved his wife, but he was still fucking furious about being treated like that. 

Furious and hurt. 

And maybe that had played into his decision as well. 

There was no reason to tell Rhys what happened. No reason whatsoever. 

Rhys must have caught that thought because the shimmer of night started to swirl around him, but Azriel wasn’t scared. He just raised a single eyebrow in question. 

“No reason?” Rhys questioned harshly. “You are the Spymaster of this fucking court, Azriel! You don’t think that maybe I should know who you are cohabiting with? Who you share a bed with? Who you married? How long did you even know this female before you married her?”

“A few months,” he answered drily. “What do you think I talk about when I am with her? Bring up the secrets of the Night Court as Pillow Talk? Oh, I tortured a couple of faes from Hewn City this afternoon, oh, harder, love? ” He questioned with a roll of his eyes.

Feyre choked out a laugh.

Rhys did not find it amusing. 

“Where did you even meet her?” he demanded. 

“Why, Rhys, I just followed your orders. You told me to go to a pleasure hall so I did,” he shot back. He had followed that order to the fucking letter. 

“So she’s a whore,” Rhys said and Azriel just looked at him. 

Embelia wasn’t ashamed of what she had been. Quite frankly, neither was he. She had done what she needed to do to survive. He was never going to give her the fault for that. The fault was on Spring for slaughtering her family and on the Night Court that they hadn’t given better support so that she would have never gotten into a situation like this where that was the only way out. 

But Embelia? She had been a whore. It was a simple fact. And she wore that proudly.  

“She was. Yes,” he agreed and he could see it on Rhys’ face what he thought about that. 

“You ordered Azriel to go to a pleasure hall?” Cassian asked. “Why?” he demanded. 

“Because he fancied himself in love with Elain of all faes and I couldn’t have him bring our court to the brink of war because he couldn’t keep it in his pants!” Rhys growled. “So I told him to go to a pleasure hall and pay for it to get it out of his system.”

“Rhys!” Mor snapped, shock colouring her voice

“Clearly, I was right, because your infatuation didn’t last long after you were told no. How long did it take you until you were in that pleasure hall?” Rhys demanded. “A Day? A week?”

“Around 6 months,” he answered, his voice even. “After it became obvious that Elain was going to give in to Lucien…Once it became obvious that she wasn’t interested in me. Then I started visiting the Pleasure Hall. I married my wife 4 months later.” 

“By the mother, Azriel, did all your good sense leave you?” Rhys asked him, shaking his head.  “What were you thinking?”  he demanded. 

“That I love her,” Azriel said calmly. “I love her,” he repeated. 

“Wow, she must have really been worth the money you spend on her,” Rhys drawled. 

She had been. Every gold coin. Every fucking clipped copper he paid for her company. Everything had been worth it, just for Embelia’s company.  

He didn’t even react to it. He had heard worse. But he could feel his rage grow with ever fucking word Rhys uttered. 

“She is worth more than you will ever understand,”  Azriel said quietly, his voice laced with steel.

Rhys glared at him. And then he said something so utterly inappropriate that the rage exploded. 

“So that’s what you needed all the time? Some pretty female that opens her legs and suddenly she leads you around by your prick?”

It felt like somebody had sucked all the air out of that room. 

Azriel’s blood boiled with anger and hurt, seething inside,  his control barely keeping the darkness at bay.

He wanted to kill Rhys at that moment. He couldn’t remember ever being this angry before. 

Having their relationship reduced to that…

Embelia’s face appeared in his mind, her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her touch. 

His sanity. 

He had made his choices, and he would stand by them. No one, not even Rhys, could make him regret loving Embelia.

“You can say whatever you want about me, but you say a single thing about my wife or my child and I’ll rip out your fucking throat, and don’t think for one moment that I won’t,” he snapped back harshly. “And yes, for the record, she was worth every fucking clipped copper, I spent on her. She was worth everything. I wanted to marry her. I asked her. I made that choice. She has done absolutely nothing but love me .” 

“You got a kid too?!” Cassian piped up. “Az?” he asked and Azriel ground his teeth.

“Yes,” he bit out. 

“How old?” Cassian asked quietly. 

“3 months tomorrow,” Azriel answered honestly. Cassian stared at him, hazel eyes harsh. 

“Boy or Girl?”

“Girl.”

“I got a niece and you haven’t told me?!” Cassian demanded. “How dare you! I owe her three months' worth of gifts and cuddles!”

“Cassian!” Nesta said sharply and Cassian started pouting. 

“Are you sure that the kid is yours?” Rhys drawled. 

He didn’t even bother to answer that question. 

“Where are you going?” Rhys demanded as he stood. 

“Home,” he gave back clippedly. “I’d rather walk my daughter to sleep than listen to you insult her mother and ask if she’s actually my daughter.” His voice was dripping with disdain. “Like there ever were any questions about it. She got her mother’s wings and my colouring.”

***

Nobody followed him home. Which was a good thing because Azriel wasn’t in a particularly forgiving mood at the moment. He was still furious. Utterly furious. 

Even as he walked through the door of the cottage… right until he saw Embelia sit in the living room, in that overstuffed armchair and nurse their daughter. She looked up as he entered, smiling.

And suddenly, every bit of anger just went up in smoke, because he couldn’t care less. 

Not when his mate was sitting there nursing his daughter, and it was so easy to just cross the room and drop to his knees before her, to let her reach out for him and run a hand over his hair and jaw and he leaned into her touch, breathing in the smell of earth and home and love. 

Home. He was home, he was with her and that was all he cared about. He stared at his daughter, happily drinking…dark eyes closed in concentration, one pudgy little fist pressing against Embelia’s breast, clearly making sure that her source of milk was going nowhere and he pressed a kiss to her downy soft hair, breathing in the combination of scents of himself and Emmie that clung to her. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Embelia asked him softly and he just shook his head. No. No, he didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to be with his girls. He just wanted to…He just wanted to be right there. 

“You are the best things that ever happened to me,” he whispered hoarsely. 

A gift from the mother herself, and he still wondered every fucking day how he deserved both of them. 

Emmie ran a hand through his curls, staying quiet, as their daughter stopped drinking and he reached out to take her. 

Embelia happily relinquished her hold on her, but not before pressing a kiss to his cheek, and a soft touch to their daughter’s wings…iridescent black. 

Her wings. His colouring. 

No question about it. 

He walked her to sleep like he always did when he could be there, pressing her little body tight to his chest, a scarred hand holding her as carefully as she was made out of spun gold. 

Emmie had laughed at him at the start, at how carefully he held her, telling him that she was a baby and would survive it if he kissed and cuddled her. Still, he had been terrified of hurting her. 

She was so small, and his hands were so big and broad and scarred and…

But sometime during the last few weeks, he had realised that his daughter…his daughter would never look at his hands as anything other than the hands that had held her and comforted her. She would grow up with these scars…she probably wouldn’t even notice them. 

They would just be a fact of life to her. 

So he walked her, the slow swaying circles around their living room that he always made to calm her as much as him, as Embelia tidied around the living room, got ready for bed, and made herself comfortable for the night. 

He could hear the bath running as he felt the touch against his mind. It wasn’t Rhys. 

It was Feyre.

He was surprised enough that he let her slide in, just a little bit, and he knew that she caught a glimpse of the baby in his arms as he felt the surprise register. 

“She’s beautiful.” It was nearly a coo in which she said that, much to his amusement and pleasure, taking in the iridescent wings that lay folded over her back. 

“She got it from her mother.”

It was the truth. Embelia was the most beautiful fae he had ever laid eyes on. The kind of beauty wars were fought over, that brought males trembling to their knees…Azriel easily admitted that he also met that particular criteria. 

“You missed a knockdown drag-out fight between Rhys and Cassian…And then Mor and Nesta decided that they should also get a word in.”

That was not what he had expected, to be quite honest. 

He had half expected that he was going to end up taking his wife and his daughter and find someplace else for them to live. 

“Amren stopped them from levelling the city,” Feyre said drily. It should have amused him, but it didn’t. Not really. 

“You should have come to me after that solstice, I would have told Rhys that he was being ridiculous,” Feyre told him drily. “I’ll deal with him. I promise.”

“It’s fine,” he waved her off. It was fine. 

Right now at least. He never could stay angry when he got to be home when he got to hold his daughter. How could he be angry when he got to hold her? 

He didn’t want to be angry when he held her…He just wanted to breathe in her scent and feel every bit of tension bleed out of him.

A snuffling sound came from his daughter, then a heart belch…and her little body relaxed against his, clearly on her way to the land of dreams. 

“No, it’s not, he should have never done that,” Feyre cut him off. “Or talk to you like that for that matter. Neither on Solstice nor today.  I’ll make sure he understands that. It won’t happen again. You can expect an apology tomorrow.” 

Now he was amused. It bled all over Feyre, who just huffed. “What, do you doubt that I can make him apologise?” she challenged him. 

“Of course not, High Lady,” he promised her. If anybody could get Rhys to weaken in his stance, then it would be his mate. And that was exactly why he had never told Feyre, never wanted to bring her into a position where she was in disagreement with her mate. 

“So congrats on that wedding,” Feyre said suddenly. “We owe you a gift or two, I think…Who knows what Mor is gonna come up with…” He could just hold back the snort at that but could feel Feyre’s amusement leech all over his mind. “Can I…” she trailed off, unsure for a moment. “May I see her?” she asked, curious and delighted for him all the same. He could feel that. 

He pushed a memory at her, from that afternoon…of his wife and his daughter in that spring sun, in that flower field,  their wings glittering and fluttering, Embelia’s pink hair falling to her waist in soft waves and curls, their daughter with his dark hair and her wings, curled up in her mother’s arms, grinning gummily at her…Happiness was oozing from every second of that screenshot. 

“You are beyond lucky,” Feyre said quietly. 

“I know.”

He knew that with every fibre of his being. 

“What’s her name?” Feyre wondered. “She’s beautiful.” 

She was. Gorgeous in fact. And that wasn’t just coloured by the fact that she was his wife and his mate…but she was gorgeous. 

“Embelia,” he answered Feyre. “Family calls her Emmie though.” He called her that, some of her friends did as well. It was what she was most comfortable with. 

“And your daughter’s? What’s her name?” Feyre asked. 

It had taken them months to settle on a name, and then finally, it had been so easy. 

“Aster.”

“A Star and a Flower,” Feyre realised with some amusement.